


Thickness Doesn't Count

by moonlitfog



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Crack, Language, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-06
Updated: 2012-05-06
Packaged: 2017-11-04 22:15:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/398779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlitfog/pseuds/moonlitfog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bones is frustrated, Jim is not innocent.<br/>Prompt fill for Buckle-up meme on LJ. The prompt:<br/>Frustrated over something insignificant. One of the boys is incredibly frustrated about something that doesn't seem to merit that severe a reaction from the other. Cue laughing about it and then comforting him anyway.<br/>No beta, and this was both the first prompt fill I've done for a meme and the first Star Trek fic I've written.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thickness Doesn't Count

Jim watched as Bones grabbed his laundry freshly back from being cleaned. He may have been surreptitiously leering as he peeked at those incredible hands sorting and folding. They moved with such surety, nimble and strong as they matched socks, Bones's brow furrowed in concentration. He pictured those fingers moving deftly between his legs, uncapping the lube, stroking and teasing... 

When his hand slid under the desk and he absently rubbed along his half-hard cock a tiny gasp escaped and Bones glanced up, a scowl blooming. 

“What's wrong with you?”

“Nothing. Just wondering why you're so anal about folding clothes you're just going to put on and get wrinkled.”

“It's not anal, it's taking proper care of one's belongings, and you could do with a few lessons in it,” he snapped as he searched amongst the clothes, unfolding and flapping shirts, before folding them again.

Jim watched, amusedly befuddled. “What the hell are you doing, Bones? You have a folding fetish I didn't know about or what?”

Startled, Bones stared at Jim, jaw agape, before snapping, “What? Why the fuck would you even ask me that? What kind of person thinks up imaginary fetishes? You are just not right. In the head.” He went back to searching the clothes, palpably getting increasingly annoyed.

“Bones, I'm starting to get a little worried here.”

Bones hadn't appeared to hear him. Muttering, he turned, looking around the floor, then wandering about the room, eyes flickering as he searched with increasing irritation for something.

“All right,” Jim sighed, “What are you looking for? Maybe I can help find it.”

“My socks. I can't find my socks.”

Jim grinned and peered at the matched socks, then at Bones. Stress. The man was under too much stress. Between the divorce, the mess with Joanna, classes, lab work, and rotations at the hospital, he had finally snapped. Jim knew it and he was going to help, in his own awesome way.

“Your socks? Um, aren't they right there?” he helpfully pointed.

Bones glared, then snatched up three single socks and waved them at Jim.

“These socks have no matches. How the hell does that even happen? It happens every time I send clothes to be cleaned. I always get back socks with no matches. What the fuck are they doing with my socks?”

Blinking, Jim looked intently at the socks Bones was waving about in indignation, other hand gripping a fistful of hair.

“They're all black, Bones. They look the same to me. So doesn't that make just one sock missing?”

Bones stalked over, and laid the socks on the desk. With a withering tone he said, “No, they _aren't_ the same. Look. This one has a cable knit. This one has a seamless toe. This one doesn't have a rib around the top. Different. And the matching socks are missing. What the fuck are they doin' with my socks? How is anyone supposed to function havin' to cope with this kind of incompetence?”

Ooookay. That was a little obsessive.

Jim grinned. “These two match.” Holding up the sock with the seamless toe and the one without a ribbed top, he held them together. “See? They're the same thickness.”

With a strangled, outraged noise, Bones snatched the socks back and threw them on the table before stomping out the door. Jim grabbed an apple and followed him, savoring the tart sweet flavor as he trailed Bones to the laundry room. 

“Where the hell are my socks, godamit!?”

The laundry workers froze, then cowered, backing away from the clearly deranged man glaring at them with the heat of a thousand suns. Jim personally thought he looked rather impressive with his chest heaving, eyes flashing, brows doing a sexy caterpillar wiggle, fury emanating from every pore. 

The head worker held out his hands placatingly. “We take pride in our work. We never have left over garments. Look around and see for yourself. I'm sorry your socks are missing, but we don't have them here.”

Bones glared around the room and finally had to admit there weren't any obvious piles of wayward garments. Muttering an inaudible apology to the stricken, trembling people clutching each other, he stormed back to their dorm room, imprecations trailing in his wake.

“Sorry about that,” Jim offered, a smile soothing the group. “He's just a little high-strung. He didn't mean anything by that.”

Arriving back at the room, Jim watched, lips quirked and eyes glittering with laughter as Bones paced, glaring at the offending socks. 

Noticing him, Bones growled, “It's not funny. It's important that a man have things he can count on and one of those things is knowing all his socks are paired up,” and oh that wasn't fair, that dead sexy growl coming from those sinful lips. Going over to him, Jim rubbed along his shoulder, then lead him over to the bed. 

“What are you doing?”

“Hush. Just take off your shirt and lay face down. I think you're too stressed. I'm going to relax you.”

“The _hell_ you will. I'm not some two-bit tart you're pickin' up in a bar, you ass.”

Sighing, Jim said, “Just do it. I'm not going to do what you think I am. Trust me.”

Bones stared at the glittering blue eyes, devastating in their confident, caring humor, and heaven help him, followed orders. “I better not regret this, Jim. You try to pull some kind of shit with me and I'll have your guts for garters, just so you know. I'm a doctor. I can do that.” After a moment he growled, “I can make it look like an accident, easy.”

Snorting, Jim went and replicated some heated oil, then got a hot towel to lay over Bones' back. Bones twitched, then groaned quietly. Settling himself over Bones' hips, Jim coated his hands in the oil and moved the towel aside to start rubbing soothing circles and strokes into Bones's neck and shoulders. How did he function with his neck so tight and so many knots in his shoulders? As he worked, the knots loosened and so did Bones. 

When Bones was a boneless (snicker) puddle, breath coming softly and evenly, mouth slightly open as he dozed, Jim got off and tossed the offending socks in the recycler. Putting Bones's clothes away, he went to the laundry hamper and pulled out two more socks and tossed them into the recycler as well. 

He was surprised it had taken so long for Bones to snap, but part one of his make-Bones-relax-and-get-him-in-the-sack plan had gone so well, he'd keep it up for a few more loads of laundry. Then when he had Bones reliant on his back massages, he'd start on _front_ massages. Smirking, he made a mental note to pick up a package of socks over the weekend. It wouldn't do for his man to run out.

**Author's Note:**

> It should go without saying that I don't know or own or profit from these characters. I'm just amusing myself. I apologize for the comma-abuse and other grammar sins. If you see something that needs to be corrected and you feel like telling me, I'll be happy to fix it. The bit about the two socks matching because they're the same thickness is from comedian Steven Wright. I don't own him or his comedy, either. Although I _do_ own his 'I Have a Pony' CD and a DVD of one of his comedy routines.


End file.
